


Deluge

by ultraviolence



Series: in the arms of the ocean (mermaidverse) [1]
Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Merpeople, Blood, Body Horror, Drabble, Fluff and Smut, Kissing, M/M, Sex, light blood kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-28
Updated: 2017-11-28
Packaged: 2019-02-08 02:23:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12854712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ultraviolence/pseuds/ultraviolence
Summary: Tarkin managed to convince Orson to visit his village. Human transformation ensues. Offshoot of Ripple. AU.





	Deluge

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Ripple](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12838389) by [ArgentGale](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArgentGale/pseuds/ArgentGale). 



> So I know I have other Tarkrennic fics (and a Galennic novel, ahem) to finish, but SOMEHOW I've talked myself into writing this and let [ArgentGale](http://archiveofourown.org/users/ArgentGale/pseuds/ArgentGale) convinced me into writing this too after she filled my (trashy) mermaid AU prompt. 
> 
> Enjoy!

The sharp, metallic tang was more than a little overpowering.

In the darkness of the hidden cave, Wilhuff Tarkin was holding half a man. Both of them are still partially submerged in water, although the wet sand of land is by reach, and even if he had rolled up his breeches, the ebb and flow of the waves still drenched not only his exposed ankles and feet but also the rough-hewn fabric. His family had been rich, once, had been influential, once, but now they were mere fishermen and women, at the mercy of the sea.

Just like how the man-- _half_ a man--he was holding was now completely at his mercy.

There was the glint of the pearl, pale white like the underside of the merman’s tail, around his neck, and then there was the sleek grey of the upper side of it, now tinged-- _drenched_ \--in crimson, tainting the seawater, and he was thrashing in the water, a great beast now at the mercy of nature, and Tarkin.

“Don’t lose the knife,” Krennic said, sharply, giving Tarkin the ritual knife he was holding--using, earlier, at himself--his arms around his shoulders. Tarkin himself was kneeling, his arms around Krennic’s exposed torso, not merely holding him, but _anchoring_ him, the knife he mentioned tucked safely at the shore, but within close grasp, after Orson gave it to him. “A- and keep me awake,” he added, and Tarkin could detect the hint of fear in his raspy voice, “don’t let me go.”

Tarkin had to smile at this, slightly, letting out a little familiar laugh, tightening his grip on the other man a little. “You know I won’t,” he teased, running his finger lightly on his exposed torso, still marvelling at how human he looked from the waist up, discounting the gills. “This is really your first time?”

Orson gritted his teeth, and Tarkin wasn’t sure if it was because of his words or if it was because of the pain. He looked up at him, eyes as blue as any sky above the ripple of the ocean outside the dark, damp cave, and Tarkin instinctively tightened his grip, as he felt the other’s slipping slightly. “Yes,” he said, “I don’t see the point of going on land. I liked tricking humans like you,” he teased, licking his lips haughtily, but then hissed at the pain as, slowly but surely, Tarkin witnessed the _change_ \--the transformation--of his lower half, that of a great white shark, into a pair of human legs. It was a _ritual_ , Orson told him earlier. The pearl had what humans would call a magical property, and the ceremonial knife was specially made, but he had to say the right words--while plunging the knife into his tail--or it won’t happen.

Or worse, it won’t happen properly.

“I know that,” Tarkin said, arching an eyebrow, pulls him closer to land a kiss on his cheek, then another on the other cheek, and then his nose, as the other man hissed again in pain, thrashing in the crimson-tinged water. “What did you call me at first? A ‘stupid blundering landlubber’?”

“That’s correct,” Orson said, cracking a small smile threaded with pain. “Cause that’s what you are, Wil. You blundered a lot, and you’re a landlubber. But,” he added, and Tarkin stole a kiss from his lips, still tasting seawater and brine in it and the first time they met, when Orson had held his fishing line steadfastly and smiled at him in that way that--he later learnt--merpeople do, stabilising the other man, “I take back the stupid part. You’re too smart for your own good, Wilhuff Tarkin. _Oh_ \--” he said, eyes widening in pain, as his tail parted, biting his bottom lip, and Tarkin thought he rather liked the look on Orson, even if a part of him was concerned of his safety, but Orson was more beautiful than ever like that, a chrysalis in the throes of turning into a butterfly, “--I don’t know why I let you talked me into this. ‘Visit my village’, you say. This,” he hissed, and Tarkin kissed him again, smiling the half-moon smile of his, “This fucking _hurts_ so much. Wil, damn you, don’t you fucking let me go. I’ll _kill_ you if you do.”

“I know you will, Orson,” Tarkin told him, calmly, watching as the final stages of the transformation took part, a grotesque view, as Krennic’s gills closed, and he gasped for air, greedily, in panic and fear. He let him took another gasp and thrash for the last time in the water, within his own blood, before Tarkin slowly pulled Orson to him. “See? What did I tell you. I’m a _reliable_ pet.”

Orson tried to narrow his eyes at him in something like mock anger, but he was in too much pain, and he could only manage it halfway, which elicited another smile from Tarkin, as he hauled him out of the water. “I still don’t know if you’re gonna sell me to the other landlubbers,” he said, grumpily, but evidently tired and spent, clumsily dragging Tarkin down and landing on top of him on the wet sand.

Tarkin managed a smirk, knowing just which buttons of his to push, feeling Orson’s nude body pressing against him, both a familiar and unfamiliar feeling, since their legs--Orson’s _new_ legs--are tangled together intimately. He reached down, caressing the other man’s thigh, wiping a trace of the blood of it. “Now _why_ would I?” Tarkin purred, his hand on Orson’s new thigh, hearing the other man whimper in surprise. “I have to admit that it’s a tempting idea, but you’ve fulfilled your end of the bargain. I’d fulfil mine and I’d keep you safe. You have my word.”

Orson stifled a moan and failing as Tarkin reached between his legs, still smirking, writhing slightly on top of him. He’d managed to press a kiss on Tarkin’s cheek, though, missing his lips by a thin margin, trailing his lips to his ear, sending a shiver down Tarkin’s spine. “You know,” Orson whispered, putting a hand beside Tarkin’s head, “that ceremonial knife could be more than that if you betray me.”

“I’m holding it for you, _Krennic_ ,” Tarkin told him, caressing his length now, giving it a light squeeze, hearing the other man moan again and feeling him going hard. Tarkin, too, could feel himself going hard, especially with the blood still on his fingers and the sweet, sharp scent of it still permeating his senses. He was no stranger to blood. Neither of them was. “It’s generally considered unwise to insult the landlubber who’s holding your key to going back home.”

Tarkin continued stroking Orson’s now-hard cock, enjoying his moans and how his eyes widened again, this time not in pain, but in pleasure. “You’re a goddamn bastard, Wil,” he hissed, punctuated by a groan as Tarkin rubbed his own erection on Orson’s naked thigh, “and you fucking know that.”

He had no more words to say, however, as Tarkin bring him to completion, letting Orson come on his hand, messy and viscous, moaning hard, his eyes wide, his breathing ragged and quick. “I- I don’t know what you just did,” the other man said, his breathing still ragged, as Tarkin guided his hand to undo his breeches and help him come, too, on Orson’s thigh, his lips pressed against the side of Orson’s face, stifling his own moans and groans as he arched his own body up against Orson and reached his own completion. It wasn’t quite satisfactory, but they’re going to have plenty of time when they reached his place. “But I liked it. You finally did something right, Wil.”

Tarkin had to smile, pressing an insistent kiss on the side of his face, then Orson’s lips. “Oh, trust me, I know a _lot_ of things, Orson,” he told him, smiling, “we can do more of this back in my place. I do want you in my bed. I’d imagine it’d be more satisfying than on wet sand...or back in your underwater palace.”

Orson sighed, a satisfied one, although tired, and Tarkin held him. “I’m looking forward to it,” he murmured. “It better be _good_.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! If you enjoy this, please let me know, and comments and suggestions are welcome <3


End file.
